


Fancy That

by oneatatime



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27245191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneatatime/pseuds/oneatatime
Summary: "I would!" There was a kind of desperate smugness in Aziraphale's tone. ThatI don't want to hurt you but I'm quite proud of my ability to do so, so nyertone. "I might even tell them that you smiled at a young child! Now stop this nonsense at once, and tell me the name of the fool, the dunderhead that rejected your affections!"
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17
Collections: Fic In A Box





	Fancy That

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bittercape (bittercape)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittercape/gifts).



"There's something bothering you, isn't there," Aziraphale said. 

Crowley nearly said, you fucking think? But Aziraphale deserved better than that, for all that he was more clueless than an empty crossword. 

The truth was. It was just getting harder and harder. He mooned over his angel. He sunned over him, too, and demons weren't supposed to enjoy sunlight. They weren't supposed to like that kind of radiation, but Aziraphale was simply so _radiant._ The way he enjoyed everything! The way he was so unashamed about knowing who he was and what he wanted? 

"Maybe a little. Fancy that," Crowley said, sighing. But then Crowley's eyes began to fill, and to his absolute fucking horror, he found himself beginning to weep.

Not just weep. 

Sob. 

Those great big heaving sobs, that make you feel like your innards're gonna come up, that mean you've got snot and tears pouring down your face. Those sobs, yeah, because Anthony Fucking J Fucking Crowley can't just cry quietly around the love of his existence, nooooooo, Anthony Fucking J Fucking Crowley has to BLUB. 

Aziraphale turned those huge blue eyes on him, full of kindness and concern. 

Crowley wanted to kiss him. He wanted to hit him. Aziraphale knew, right? He knew, because he couldn't be that stupid, and now he'd run away. Crowley would be alone again, apart from humans, who, OK, some of them were worth a nod now and then, but they weren't Aziraphale. 

But Aziraphale was being nothing but sweet. 

"Crowley, my dear," he said softly, face twisted in empathy. He fished in a pocket suddenly, and withdrew a giant handkerchief. It was tartan, of course, and Crowley was too busy howling to really pay attention to the plethora of ping pong balls, feathers, and one very irritated dove who fell out of the pocket along with it. He held it to Crowley's face. "Blow. It'll be all right, I promise. I'll talk to whoever this young man is. I'll straighten things out." 

.................no, he really could be that stupid. 

Crowley gave him a careful pat on the shoulder, and then he got up. He took as deep a breath as he could manage in between the sobs, as they slowly, slowly reduced in both size and frequency. Then he strolled over to the doorway, with his usual dislocated hip jauntiness. He scratched just to the right of his lower lip for a moment. He gave Aziraphale a watery smile. 

"It's fine," he said. 

Then he took a hold of the doorframe, and proceeded to slowly and methodically smack his head against it. Maybe he could make the wood splinter. Just have to hit it hard enough. 

" _Crowley!_ "

A fizz around him, and he found himself miracled back onto the couch. 

"Angel!" 

"You stop that right now, you hear me? I'm not above - I'm not above going out into the street and telling random passers-by that you did something kind for me!" 

This was effrontery of the frontiest kind. Crowley gaped at him, forgetting all about the other idiocy for a moment. "You _wouldn't._ " 

"I would!" There was a kind of desperate smugness in Aziraphale's tone. That _I don't want to hurt you but I'm quite proud of my ability to do so, so nyer_ tone. "I might even tell them that you smiled at a young child! Now stop this nonsense at once, and tell me the name of the fool, the dunderhead that rejected your affections!" 

Crowley glared at him, and then he felt himself slump. He let himself uncoil back onto the chintzy, horrible couch, with his face pointed at the ceiling. He wondered for a moment just when Aziraphale had laid his greedy little hands on a tartan chandelier. 

"It's you." 

"Yes, I know it's me here at the moment, but I can go out and go all avenging angel on this person, don't you worry about that!" A smug little sniff. "I will FORCE them to sit for an hour and LISTEN to me as I extol all of your charms, and then I'll use up the other fifty-nine minutes and thirty seconds by doing magic." 

There was a smug little chuckle after that. 

"Oi," Crowley said automatically. "Rude. And don't go doing any of that. I like you too much to torture you with your magic." 

The ceiling had no response to this. 

Neither did Aziraphale.

Aziraphale continued to have no response. 

And there was further silence from Aziraphale. 

"You're getting it, right?" 

"Mm? Oh, I was just wondering about-"

And then Crowley heard it, as Aziraphale's words stuttered to a halt, and as the room around them began to - to glow. Crowley's eyes snapped open (when had he shut them?) in absolute alarm. They were getting firebombed, right? One of those 'customers' had actually snapped, at last? 

......and _THEN_ he had a lapful of angel, and there were warm, soft hands on either side of his face, and warm, soft thighs on either side of his, and then warm, soft lips on his. 

Huh.

So. 

So, uh.

So this was what it felt like to be kissed by someone who actually cared about you. Someone who cared about you so much that he was willing to go off and lecture himself about it. 

It was... it was pretty smashing, actually. 

Gotta do, um, thing. Thing with the limbs. End of limbs. Hands, that's it.

Yeah, he sent one hand cautiously exploring across Aziraphale's lower back, and that got met with an enthusiastic soft little sound and so he left it there. The other went up into the softness of Aziraphale's hair, and THAT made Aziraphale shift his weight, which shifted Crowley's weight too, and the sofa creaked under them and he laughed. He actually laughed, while kissing.

Kissing could be about laughing, he was discovering. It didn't have to be done all dramatically, and all desperate to get to the next bit-y. It could be about kissing, instead. Just kissing. 

Kissing could be about laughing with your smug angel who was willing to lecture himself. 

Aziraphale was laughing, as well, and it was one of the best sounds Crowley'd ever heard in his stupid life. 

"Is this all right?" he asked softly, into the side of Crowley's face. 

"More than all right. Imagine you, wanting to kiss me," Crowley said, rapturous. "Fancy that."


End file.
